


Summer Sweetens All

by AwayLaughing



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, History, Mentions of Character Death, Pre-Slash, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-23
Updated: 2011-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sunny day in the year 300 Y.S in Gondolin and Glorfindel has a tale for Erestor. Rated for mentions of death and general First Age of Middle Earth sadness and despair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Sweetens All

Laughter filled the small study, bouncing in from the courtyard to ring inside the ears of the figure bent over the crowded desk. “Come play Erestor!” A black haired child came bouncing into the cool room, grey eyes sparkling in her young face.

“Yes Erestor,” the voice was deeper and male, it's owner golden haired and blue eyed, “you are all work and no play dear friend.” Trying to hide his pleasure at the invitation Erestor forced a scowl.

“Aren't you needed at court, o mighty Glorfindel, Lord of the Golden Flower?” Glorfindel beamed at him as he ducked into the study, his height and presence filling the dark room, smile blinding.

“It is the first day of summer Erestor,” he said despairingly, “you cannot keep a flower in a stuffy court function on the first day of summer.”

Failing to keep back his smile Erestor shrugged, “well you can keep a lowly scribe in an office,” he said only for his youngest sister to throw herself bodily at him.

“Erestor,” she said, her tiny chin propped on his chest, “you can't stay in here,” her little mouth twisted down into a frown, “Lord Ecthelion says you'll forget the sun and go blind next time you see it!”

“O Meren,” Erestor stood and in one smooth motion swung her up and into his arms, managing to push back the chair without so much as a scrape. “You should have said, I cannot refute My Lord's knowledge.” 

“Good,” Glorfindel's grin seemed to grow as they stepped into the light, “it was your mother's idea.”

Erestor laughed at that, setting his sister down onto the sun heated ground and watching her chase after a pale pink butterfly. “Of course it was,” he leaned against the wall of his tiny room, so much hotter on the outside than in, watching the few children in the House of the Fountain chasing one another and laughing. The newly a hundred, almost reaching her majority Ninniach was trying to look as grown up as possible while chasing her brothers around the complex. To Erestor's surprise, Ecthelion was perched on the edge of the ornate fountain in the centre of the large courtyard, Erestor's mother as well as the youngest member of the house, Tachol, the son of a kitchen girl, next to him

“Erestor!” blinking the scribe stepped obediently forward when Ecthelion called to him, stopping a few respectful feet away. “Surely you did not think I would have you squirrelled away during a day such as this?” The older elf's eyes were bright and intense in the mid afternoon sun and Erestor felt a flush on his cheeks and ducked his head.

“Well you did not say otherwise My Lord,” he muttered shyly, only to be met with a bright laugh, Ecthelion shocking him by standing and swooping forward, taking the shorter elf's face in his hands and pressing his lips to his forehead. 

“O Erestor,” he pulled away only enough for his grey eyes to meet Erestor's own black. “You are precious,” the unusual mirth in his eyes left Erestor as confused as he was pleased by the compliment.

“My Lord?” On the fountain his mother laughed at her son's baffled hesitance.

“Erestor has spent so much time looking at books his ears are failing due to disuse,” her voice was light with teasing and Erestor felt his cheeks grown hotter under Ecthelion's cool, callused hands even as he grinned. With another kiss to his brow the proud lord pulled away still grinning, and returned to his seat, allowing downy haired Tachol to climb onto him and tug at his braids.

“Surely not mistress Elunis,” he said, “I'm confident his ears are as able as his any other part of him.” 

Glorfindel reappeared behind Erestor, always willing to encourage Ecthelion on his rare playful days. All but draping himself over the dark haired elf's back he tugged at the tip of one pale ear. “Erestor,” he said lighting, grinning ever wider when the scribe turned slightly to glare at him. “He seems fine,” the golden haired lord agreed, pulling Erestor to him when the young elf squawked in indignation and tried to pull away. “I think he just needs to cool off.”

That was all the warning Erestor got before he ended up in the fountain, half laughing half sputtering as the water hit his face. A whoop came from somewhere to his left and Erestor let out another bark of laughter as Cúron and Hannass leapt onto his chest, their dark locks quickly sticking to their bright faces.

“See Ninniach,” Hannass, the older of the two turned to yell to his sister who was still trying to catch her youngest sibling, the giggling Gaeron, “Erestor is almost a full six decades older than you and he isn't too old to play in the fountain.”

Stopping Ninniach, who looked less like her Noldor mother and much more like her Nandor father, threw her silvery hair over one shoulder looking as haughty as possible when smudged with dirt and trying not to smile. “It does not count,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Lord Glorfindel threw him in.”

Seemingly taking it as an invitation, and knowing the Elda it may as well have been, Glorfindel crossed the small distance between him and the girl, scooping her up and depositing her into the fountain beside Erestor in all of four steps.

Stepping back, away from splashes from vengeful young elves, Glorfindel's smile grew even larger and he put his hands on his hips as if to appreciate his handy work. “There,” he said brightly, “now you truly are of the fountain.”

Ecthelion let out a laugh at that even as Erestor groaned at the joke, rubbing his nose against Cúron's before lifting him off and sitting up. “That was atrocious,” he told Glorfindel sternly, eyes dancing as he hauled himself out of the water, wringing out thick locks as he spoke. “Utterly atrocious,” letting his still wet hair fall he turn to his robes, wringing the hems to try and prevent dripping before turning to the house. “It was,” he continued as he walked, “so bad I may have to declare you a degenerate.” Stepping into the main house, and calling promises not to hide away in the library over his shoulder he then gave Glorfindel a hard look. “Do you know what we do to degenerates in the House of the Fountain?”

Glorfindel looked expectantly at Erestor as he shook his head, long legs taking the stairs easily, Erestor following with a similar grace. “Neither do I,” Erestor admitted, looking at his golden haired companion, “we have either never had one or did not wish anyone to know we did, there are no accounts in any of our books.”

At that Glorfindel laughed, following the scribe into his rooms, inviting himself to sit on the bed. “Fair enough,” Glorfindel said, “I fear the House of the Golden Flower has a different problem,” Erestor, shrugging off his wet summer robe gave him a questioning look. “We are so filled to the brim with ill behaved characters we cannot be bothered to record it,” as he spoke his grin never wavered and Erestor, forgoing his more formal robes for a simple tunic and leggings, laughed.

“Somehow I think that is not true,” he said easily, fastening his leggings before reaching back to try and retrieve the leather hair tie from his thick mane. After watching the other struggle for a moment Glorfindel gave in to kindness and gestured him over, patting the bed beside him.

“Sit,” he said firmly, “I will deal with your hair.” Rolling his dark eyes Erestor did as asked. Immediately long callused fingers worked gently through his hair, gently freeing the snarls that had formed over the past few days. “You really must brush it more,” he told Erestor, finally freeing the hair tie, “or at least plait it.”

Biting his lip Erestor gave Glorfindel a dubious look over his shoulder. “I usually do,” he pointed out, “I have simply been thrown into more fountains than usual.” Laughing Glorfindel moved his head so he was looking forward again and began combing the tangles out of the black locks. They fell into silence, an easy one like most of the ones the two experienced, Erestor falling into a sort of trance as Glorfindel worked.

For his part Glorfindel worked diligently, fingers weaving the familiar pattern as easily as breathing, and after a moment Erestor started, as if something occurred to him rather suddenly. “My Lord Ecthelion is of a humour today,” he said finally, Glorfindel restarting his stalled braiding and not replying for a moment which was long enough even patient Erestor thought he wouldn't do so at all.

“It is the first day of summer,” Glorfindel said simply, “who has the heart to be forlorn or sad on such a day?” Erestor hummed in response, shifting only slightly to look out the window. “Ecthelion is very fond of you and your mother,” Glorfindel added, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Mother is his cousin,” Erestor said slowly, “I can think of nothing other than blood than would endear me to him.” Giving a small laugh Glorfindel tied off the braid, pressing a kiss to the back of Erestor's wet head.

“You are a marvel Erestor,” Glorfindel said laughing before turning somewhat somber, reminding Erestor that Glorfindel was a noble lord who had seen more than Erestor was ever likely to. “You have seen the ring.”

Erestor knew of what he spoke, the ring which signified the Lord of the Fountain had at one point been wed. “Yes,” he said “wha-”

“I have a story for you,” Glorfindel's tone was firm as he cut the other off and Erestor, lover of tales both sad and happy, quickly returned to the foot of his bed. “I did not know Ecthelion well before we came to Middle Earth, we were cousins but only distantly through my own relation to Indis, but I did know Liaheri, the one he took as his wife some scant decade or so before we left Aman.”

Pausing he licked his lips and continued. “She was exceptionally kind, Liaheri, and a skilled weaver, thus her name. Her family was a lesser Noldor family, they owned an orchard I think, but she was captivating. Ecthelion never said how he met her, that he did was enough to seal their fates and for the time they were together they were very happy.” Erestor nodded his understand, fingers tapping anxiously at the bed as if he longed to write the story down.

“I and my siblings were in Finarfin's host during the start of the journey, and Liaheri was with us. Ecthelion had not asked her to come along, perhaps even then we knew what madness we were leading ourselves to, but she was firm in her desire to either keep him in Aman or go with him. We arrived upon Alaquondë toward the end, a small kindness as Liaheri was not one for bloodshed. At any rate we failed to find Ecthelion, and as we came closer and closer to leaving Aman forever my siblings and I were growing less and less sure that we would find him.”

“Liaheri's grief at the perceived loss of her husband was becoming dangerous by the time Finarfin's host decided to remain, and in my worry for her I sealed my fate.” Erestor did not interrupt but cocked his head to the side, long fingers now twisting the bedding in an effort to contain themselves and their need to put words to paper. “I swore an oath,” he said, “the only oath I swore in those days,” he add firmly. “I swore an oath to follow her in whatever decision she made so that she may have an extra pair of eyes to search with. My siblings said this was foolish and refused to leave Aman, a better choice I think for they were less able to handle bloodshed than even gentle Liaheri.”

“So, I swore my oath and Liaheri bid we press forward, joining Fingolfin's host.” Here Erestor completely failed to suppress his natural curiosity.

“My Lady never makes it from the ice, does she?” he asked, “and where is my mother in all of this?”

“Patience Erestor,” Glorfindel said, “patience.” Settling back down Erestor nodded, urging him to continue. “We travelled for many weeks in that dark cold place, and we lost many, Liaheri's dearest friend, Yáveriel fell into the grinding ice early on, before we truly knew the dangers and Liaheri was growing sicker every moment with grief.”

“So it was that I took it upon myself to travel the host, asking and looking after any hint of Ecthelion. That is how I found your mother, grieving for the loss of you brother.” Erestor nodded at that, the story of his brother's death on the ice one he had been told by the Lady Aredhel one dark winter day many years ago. “She knew of Ecthelion, travelled with him always except for when he was with Turgon, as he was when I found her. I was ecstatic to hear this, glad to have a balm for Liaheri's heart, and so I bid your mother give me leave to depart for a few hours and I would return.”

“That was when one of the many tragedies struck. The ice broke with almost a full third of the host left stranded, Liaheri and a small number trapped in the middle, clinging to ice flows and trying not to slip into that dreadfully cold water,” he grimaced at the memory and Erestor, not thinking, reached forward, smoothing the lines on his brow as if to chase away the shadow of that memory. Realizing what he was doing Erestor made to snatch his hand away only for Glorfindel to smile and grab the slim digits, pressing a chaste kiss of thanks to the ink stained tips before continuing, keeping the hand in his grasp.

“Myself and a few others quickly decided someone was going to have to do the unpleasant work of bringing enough of the ice floats together to form a path. Penlodh and myself as well as another elf who's name escapes me, though I know he went with Finrod to wherever they've gone, all agreed to do this. For myself it was only partially because of my oath but also because I felt it was simply the thing to do. Anyway, we managed, and we got everyone across with what was, at that time, limited fatalities.” 

Erestor frowned at this, moving forward some but did not interrupt. “So we reached your mother and Ecthelion had rejoined her, and he was very glad to see Liaheri again. Your mother seemed to take exception to the fact I had promised to return and had then gone about throwing myself into the very waters that took her son, and spent a great deal of time burying me in clothing and worrying.”

“With the addition of myself and Ecthelion's wife we were a group of five now, your father having been gone to do something for Argon, who tried to save your brother I should add, and we were lucky because we had between us two horses.”

“Neither your mother nor Liaheri were ones to be treated like delicate flowers so we had a sort of rotation as to who would sit on the horses. We spent a lot of time very close to those animals because they were really quite warm and we wished to keep them that way. One night,” he paused before shrugging, “I say night but it was hard to tell, but one night, only a few days I after we all met up, or so I think, Liaheri simply walked off.” He shook his head, running a hand through his golden hair. “She was tired, and she just walked off and fell asleep, never waking again, it was, I think what killed most of us. So many simply lay down to rest, and never moved again.”

Erestor looked helplessly at his friend, incomprehension on his features, and Glorfindel smiled sadly, understanding his confusion. “Her heart was sick, forever banished from Aman and her family, her best friend dead and her husband missing, by the time we found him I think she thought it an imagining of a stricken mind.” Sighing he continued. “By that time we were overflowing with tragedy, Ecthelion's was just another and so people just...” he paused, looking for the way to phrase it, “they did not care. They were not cruel, but we only had so much room in our hearts and minds for grief and empathy before we would have been swallowed whole and lost.”

“That is why your mother is so dear to Ecthelion, I think she saw it as a way to make up for your brother's death and she doted on him and me, and you,” he gave Erestor a smile that was hard for the scribe to read, “you were not born for a full two centuries later, but it brought Ecthelion much joy. As an infant he treated you very much like the son he will never have.” Sensing the story was done Erestor stood, all but running to the window as if to reassure himself that the sun and Gondolin were still there.

Behind him Glorfindel stood, stretching and heading for the door. “But come,” he said, “let us not dwell on our darkest days, especially not when the sun is so happy to see us.”

Smiling Erestor followed the older elf, happy to escape the gloom that had painted itself onto his walls with Glorfindel's story. Outside Ninniach and her three brothers were now in the fountain, splashing and shrieking. His mother had moved into the doorway leading into the kitchen, humming as she worked on shelling peas, young Tachol sitting on his own mother's lap as she shucked corn. Both Erestor's sisters had reappeared, young Meren and the slightly older Ceredis playing a game of draughts on the stone while Ecthelion could be seen just outside the gate talking to someone.

Under the sun and surrounded by gentle humming and joyous laughing Erestor smiled, his fingers itching to write down this scene, let it grace the pages of annals of history to combat dark journeys and bloody wars. Nudging him Glorfindel regained his attention, the sun bouncing off his locks, forcing Erestor to combat the urge to play with it like a kitten.

“Come,” Glorfindel's voice was fresh and bright again, rejuvenated by the sun's light, “let us get the horses and ride.” With that the noble lord quickly trotted off.

Erestor turned to his mother, who had heard. “Go,” she said simply, “my lord has to be back in time for the night banquet anyway, I believe this is more for him than you.” With that Erestor chased after Glorfindel forced to almost run through the streets of Gondolin, safe behind the mountain ranges.

**Author's Note:**

> The dandelions and buttercups gild all the lawn: the drowsy bee stumbles among the clover tops, and summer sweetens all to me.  
> \-- James Russell Lowell
> 
> This is a history for the ever mysterious Erestor I've started piecing together, similarities to other stories are probably because I've scoured the internet and read many, many fics about what people think his life has been like. At any rate, I can definitely say that one fic which has influenced me is "The Forgotten Tree" by twopoint.
> 
> OCs Name Meanings
> 
> Ninniach - butterfly, the daughter of a servant and a stable hand  
> Hannass - intelligent, the son of a servant and a stable hand  
> Cúron - crescent moon, the son of a servant and a stable hand  
> Gaeron - ocean, the son of a servant and a stable hand
> 
> Liaheri - spider silk lady, Ecthelion's deceased wife  
> Yáveriel - galanded fruit, Liaheri's childhood friend
> 
> Elunis - blue bride, Erestor's mother, a healer  
> Colnorn - hard gold, Erestor's father, chief bookeeper in the House of the Fountain. (not mentioned in this piece)  
> Asëamálo - helpful, friendly one, Erestor's older brother, died as child on Helcaraxë.  
> Ceredis - maker (f), Erestor's younger sister  
> Meren - festive, Erestor's youngest sister


End file.
